


6:48, walking home

by lqbys



Series: rather you than tequila [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, High School, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mutual Pining, Physical Abuse, School, Slice of Life, Teen Angst, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 03:43:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16233512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lqbys/pseuds/lqbys
Summary: The first time Mingyu kisses him, they’re walking home after a math test.There’s an echo of strawberry, the lingering taste of sweets on his lips. Minghao lets it happen the second time, and the third, and each time, when Mingyu pretends it never happened, Minghao laughs to himself.They're not friends, and they don't kiss.





	1. beginnings_chapter1

**Author's Note:**

> takes places before the two other fics of the series, how they met and stuff but u can read it as a stand-alone xoxo

It’s stupid. A stupid idea for a stupid class taught by a stupid teacher. It’s so fucking stupid Mingyu has to bite the inside of his cheek to not scream out of frustration.

White paper sheets disappear from the board as students form pairs and choose their subjects. Every interesting one gets chosen, and everybody, one by one, stands up when called by another student to form a group of two. Mingyu predicts nobody is going to choose him. Mingyu is right.

He’s the only one still sitting, and there’s only one single paper still pinned against the big, white board of the classroom.

_The production of wine from the Roman Empire to the modern ages_

‘Well, Mingyu.’ The teacher’s used to it by now, and doesn’t sound as surprised anymore. She snaps her fingers, offers a kind smile. ‘Guess you and Minghao have to work together.’

‘What?’

She tilts her head to the side like she always does when some kid (himself) asks obvious stuff, and Mingyu hates it. ‘Minghao doesn’t have anyone either, so…’

It doesn’t make any sense. Mingyu looks around him, ignoring the mocks of snob students, and sure, he doesn’t see anyone but him still sitting. As far as he knows, there’s no fucking Minghao either in this class, and he’s about to say so when he hears a chair squeak behind. 

Shit.

Mingyu watches with wide eyes as a thin figure passes him, easily moving around desks until he’s reached the board. Jet black hair covering his eyes, long legs and not even wearing half of the required school uniform pieces. He knows him, seen the svelte silhouette and bright green converses around. _Everybody_ knows him. The boy grabs the only piece of paper left, and with that, Mingyu ends up paired up with the school’s most famous Chinese exchange student.

He tastes blood on his tongue and realizes he’s bitten through flesh. 

Xu Minghao’s skinny fingers chase some loose strands of hair out of his vision. Two big, empty eyes looking at – rather through – him. His hollow gaze feels like the beginning of something terrible, something that’d ruin his life forever. At that moment, there’s nothing Mingyu wishes harder than running away far, far away from the city and never come back. 

After a quick consideration, he only looks back into the black, black eyes of Minghao and decides he’s not afraid.

\- - - 

It starts out as a survival act. Highschool’s drama leading to one thing leading to another – they’re seventeen, going on eighteen, and the world’s a scary place.

‘Fuck off,’ Mingyu spits the blood off his mouth.

That’s stupid, and he knows, but mama never stopped telling him that if he were to go down, he better go down fighting.

One of the boys is tall and chubby, cute in a weird way (Kim Mingyu’s taste’s always been questionable). The next hard push against the lockers comes with a flash of crooked teeth. ‘Repeat that?’

His cheap, gangster-wannabe band snicker. Mingyu feels blood drip down his chin, and curses internally. New colors against his rip and a split lip only so far, he’s having it rather easily today, but it's barely enough to feed the monsters inside him.

‘I said, fuck off, asshole.’

‘You’re going to _so_ regret that.’

There’s something about the whole thing which carves a smile on Mingyu’s face. It’s getting almost repetitive, the way they beat him — teachers not caring and students looking away. His bullies, god he hates that stupid word, his bullies are kings in a world full of math problems and literature essays, too stupid to realise they are playing a game they have lost a million times. Mingyu, well, he’s learnt a thing or two about knuckles against jaws — it hurts less if you are the one asking for them.

Xu Minghao would disagree.

They’re not friends, barely stand each other’s presence. But this time, the boy decides he is done listening to weaklings bark pointlessly at bigger than them.

‘Let him go.’

Mingyu’s head snaps to his left. The three guys watch too as something in the atmosphere shifts. Minghao’s words aren’t orders, neither a threat: he speaks the way he carries himself, with confident indifference, careless yet alarming.

‘Why d’you care?’ the boldest of them asks, a frown pinching his ulgy brows.

‘You’re all annoying me.’

Mingyu’s eyes narrow. They still have fistful of his shirts in their hands, and one stopped mid-motion, fist hanging in the air, but it doesn’t make him half as mad as this guy just did. Who the fuck does he think he is?

Cute boy’s eyes narrow, grip tightening around one of Mingyu’s wrist. ‘Mind your own damn business.’

Minghao doesn’t pay attention to Mingyu. Hasn’t cast a single glance his way ever since he’s appeared, and it pisses him off in so, so many ways. He knows what this means. He knows exactly what this means - somehow it hurts more than bruises and sore bones.

Now, the Chinese exchange student is standing right before them, long limbs relaxed and dull eyes scanning the whole thing, uninterested. 

Waiting for the next punch. 

Mingyu isn’t that patient, so he attacks first. ‘It’s not your problem. Go back to China or wherever the fuck else you’ve crawled from.’ 

Minghao remains unbothered, blinks - the air starts clinging tighter around their throats. In the end, the three guys end up letting go of him and disappearing down the corridor trying hard not to run. Mingyu didn’t get as little as a last hateful glance like any other day, or spit to his face. His chest suddenly feels so hollow he forgets for a while about the guy who just fucked his entire day.

A tiny droplet of red running down his chin wakes him up.

‘You don’t get to do this,’ Mingyu nearly shouts. Clenches his shaking fists. ‘We’re not suddenly fucking friends because we have a presentation to do together, you piece of shit.’

The boy shakes his head. There’s the ghost of a smile on his lips as he shoves his hands inside his pockets. Mingyu wants to tell him his converses are down-right ugly and he doesn’t have any fucking right stuffing his big round nose where it doesn’t belong. He can handle daily beating. He can take care of himself. He doesn’t need the fucking Chinese exchange student to save him, or anyone.

‘We’re not.’ 

Minghao eyes are black, but they feel red, burning, and it takes a lot from Mingyu not to take a step back at that moment.

‘Either join me in the library tomorrow morning so we can finish that presentation, or fuck off and let me do it alone. I won’t let you bring me down.’ 

Just like blood dripping on Mingyu’s white collar, Minghao’s disdain rolls off his tongue easily, anger fighting in the void of his eyes to set them on fire. Yet his voice never cuts deeper, never rises nor drops in octaves— he speaks in calm volumes and flat tones. Mingyu has a hard time deciding what the fuck is wrong with him, but the aching patches of black and blue all over his ribs don’t let him wonder much longer.

‘Fuck you,’ he spits, reaching for his bag. There’s a rush of hot and dangerous feelings boiling in his veins, but he’s smart enough to know not to take it out on Minghao. The guy nods his head, a ‘get lost’ in disguise.

Mingyu chews on his bloody lip to keep from screaming at his face and storms off without another word. 

Tomorrow morning, he would be there.

_(and the following one, and all the thousand others to come)_


	2. last hope_chapter2

**one,**

 

The library is quiet, buzzing with the soft rustling of paper sheets and pen scratching down on books. Mingyu’s right leg won’t stop bouncing, a pinch in his eyebrows.

‘So, are you an exchange student?’

Minghao’s wrapped in a thick, forest green scarf – he sits slouched on the chair, so limp he’s going to slide down any second given. 

‘No,’ he answers gruffly, the word muffled and eyes set on burning holes through his notebooks.

They have one point to go, one more dumb paragraph to write so the nightmare ends. It’s the fifth day of them meeting in the library at ass o’clock, before the sun rises in the sky and before any class begins. Mingyu thinks it’s weird the school would do that, though he’s lost count of the many young mornings he’s spent dwelling over stupid stuff in the warm comfort of books. Right now though, as he gazes angrily at the books and virgin sheets scattered on the table, he finds no comfort whatsoever. 

At least they’re almost finished, he thinks, closing his eyes – at least Minghao stopped feeling like a steel wall.

Turning his head to his side, Mingyu lets his eyes linger on his classmate. A lopsided grin curls his lip, he asks with a spark to his eyes. ‘You Chinese, though?’

He doesn’t expect an answer, yet it comes anyway, a grunted yes. Mingyu blinks a few times.

‘The fuck you’re doing here?’

Here – the beatdown, humid and grey shithole of a place their neighborhood is. Minghao’s sharp eyes flicker to his right and just like that, he becomes brute, hard steel again. His voice cuts right through Mingyu’s teasing and the vague attempts at conversation.

‘Not your business, outcast.’

They finish their presentation in silence, the way it started. They get a good grade out of it, better than whatever Mingyu’s ever got. 

Minghao stops acknowledging his existence altogether.

 

 

**two,**

They still haven’t talked. Properly talked, introduced themselves. Since the presentation, boys and girls alike stopped bothering Mingyu. Though it’s no concern right now – why is he there? He shouldn’t be there, Mingyu thinks.

Minghao sits mute and cold on the sidewalk. Cars pass. Come and go, silence still. Mingyu’s father is waiting for him in the car. There’s a quiet tension in the few feet separating them, and he knows Minghao knows he’s there.

The kid doesn’t act on it, though. Stays hunched over, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. Jacket – no, just a thin piece of clothe barely enough to keep the frosty weather at bay. Must be clawing at his skin, the cold. His nose is red, cheeks smeared crimson. Those big eyes of his – they’re empty. 

Mingyu doesn’t know why, but he talks. Words fill the space between his teeth before he can stop himself – _I’ll give you a ride._

Minghao looks up. 

‘Yeah?’ 

Mingyu blinks. He expected the guy to lash out, curse. Tell him to fuck off – but there’s none of the usual venom in him right now. They’re so far way from home, its mist and grey skies, and perhaps Minghao left most of his act there. 

‘Yeah,’ he speaks softly, like he’s afraid of breaking something – the moment, Minghao? – and adds, jerking his thumb behind, ‘Dad, he’s right there. Come on.’ 

A pause. Some heartbeats. Cars passing, then the faint nod of Minghao’s head. 

The walk to the car is silent, weird. Mingyu’s afraid to look behind, half-expecting him to have stayed sitting there, shivering, but fights the urge to turn around. Did Orpheus feel like that? Dumb comparison – he slaps himself mentally. 

Minghao stops beside him, in front of the car. Big, black, shiny. Spotless. Mingyu feels uncomfortable under the kid’s gaze, tries making some hand gestures, ‘Get inside.’ 

He complies, fingers gripping the door handle tightly. Mingyu notices they’re shaking pretty bad, but doesn’t comment on it. He slips inside mere seconds after.

‘Good evening,’ Minghao mutters under his breath. Adds quietly, ‘sir’. 

Dad glances behind. His glasses slide down a little as he offers surprised greetings – Mingyu knows he doesn’t really mind. 

‘Hi. Mingyu’s friend? I’ve never seen you around.’ 

Mingyu bites back his reply. We’re not friends, that’s why. Instead, he turns to his father and smiles a little for good measure. 

‘I ran into him – huh, name’s Minghao – in the parking lot. He lives not so far off,’ he has no idea where he lives, shrugs nonetheless, ‘so I offered a lift.’ 

‘Oh, of course. Let’s go then.’ 

‘Thank you, sir.’ 

Mingyu hides his surprise behind the scarf wrapped around his neck. He looks up to the rear-view mirror, and catches Minghao’s eyes. They’re a pool of everything and nothing, those eyes, and Mingyu feels like jumping straight in. 

Who does that? Sound so sincere and thankful for something as mundane as a simple ride offered by, what? A friend? Lesser than that. A guy you’ve worked with for one week over a dumb school project? Mingyu wonders. 

Minghao asks politely if they can stop there, near the convenience store – he lives just around the corner, and you can’t really go there by car. Dad doesn’t mind either way.

When Minghao steps out of the car, he bows lower than needed. ‘Thanks for the ride,’ to his dad, then his eyes linger on Mingyu. 

That’s kinda awkward, Mingyu realizes. What do they do, now? How do they act? Father looks so pleased to know his son is friends with such a polite, kind young man. Lucky him – for once, Minghao’s dressed fine, none of the blinding colors or weird, exotic fashion. 

At last, Minghao’s lips curl into a strange smile. ‘See you at school.’ 

Mingyu waves a very hesitant wave. 

You don’t mean that, he thinks.

 

 

**three,**

No one gives him shit anymore at school. Mingyu spends his days alone and wonders if missing your ex-bullies is Freudian. 

Probably not, but what does he know? 

He kicks his chair away from the desk and the teacher barks at him for it. 

“Sorry.”

He isn’t really sorry.

 

 

**four,**

Mingyu plants vengefully two chopsticks in a overcooked vegetable. Take that, piece of shit. This school, its staff, they don’t care about their health, do they? He’s never seen a goddamn broccoli look, let alone _smell_ like that.

The cafeteria is where all shit goes down. Kids from every grade gather there and yell over one another to be heard by their friends. When someone breaks a glass, the whole place roars like a single person and bangs on the table – another fucking one! So on and so on. 

Hell on earth, if you ask Mingyu. Although he can afford eating somewhere else, anywhere, top class restaurant or cheap fast-food – he likes the chaos and yelling better. 

It’s always fucking quiet at home, so this – this is nice. 

He’s occupying a six-person table all by himself. _Suck my dick, popular kids_. Mingyu is used to eating alone, so he doesn’t mind the empty space all around himself. Today, though – there’s unexpected change. 

Minghao walks up to his table with an nearly empty tray and plants his ass on the creaky chair right in front of Mingyu. The latter blinks, once, twice, but things still don’t make sense.

What the fuck, he’s still there. Why’s he still there? Nobody eats with Mingyu. What does he think he’s doing? 

‘Outcast,’ Minghao greets like nothing’s wrong and they’ve always done this. 

Mingyu stabs another piece of vegetable just so he doesn’t throw a sudden tantrum. Is that it? Are they suddenly friends because they’ve done a presentation together, because Mingyu’s father thinks his freak, loner of a son has finally made a mate?

‘This isn’t how it works,’ Mingyu warns, threat lazy in his tone but still there. Not quite saying fuck off, but nearly there. 

Kindness is a one-time thing happening out of the blue and for no reason at all. 

Minghao looks up, annoyed but unfazed otherwise. ‘Look around,’ he says, drawling out syllables like he’s forcing himself to speak. 

‘I’m looking around. The fuck am I supposed to see?’ Mingyu grunts, already fisting his fork a little to tightly. 

‘Public school. People eating. Look at me,’ he points the knife against his chest, ‘Eating. Got a problem with that?’

Mingyu shuts his mouth, just like that. There’s nothing to argue here – public school and public cafeteria and a whole table free. Minghao eating. He should be eating. He needs it. Look at him, all scrawny and stuff. Mingyu’s jaw tightens noticeably, but he doesn’t reply.

He eats his vegetables angrily and curses them all.

 

 

**cinco,**

Days become weeks and weeks become months and Mingyu still isn’t sure what his relationship with Xu Minghao from China is. 

They hang out around school, eat together at the cafeteria, do homework in a shitty diner in the far-end of town, then wander through streets until it’s time to part ways. 

Most times they don’t have much to say to one another – small talk and usual banter go a long way. Most times before they know the sun’s down and they’ve said their goodbyes. 

 

 

 

**six,**

‘Can I come to your place?’ 

Mingyu looks up from the literature essay due for tomorrow. Minghao isn’t looking at him – poking at the Chili Burger from their favorite place, that damn diner out of town. 

‘Huh, I guess? Why,’ he says, unsure himself. 

Can Xu Minghao from China come to his place? No one there would care (Mingyu would). 

Minghao kicks his shin lightly under the table with those ugly neon Converses of his. ‘If that’s cool with you, outcast. Don’t wanna intrude.’

He shrugs. Home’s big enough for the both of them, and his parents wouldn’t even know. It starts raining outside, and Mingyu loses all interest in Park Wansuh’s work. 

His next words are spoken low enough he’s not sure whether the kid hears him or not. ‘You never do.’

Mingyu hopes he doesn't.

Minghao grins.

 

 

 

**seven pm,**

 

There’s anxiety crawling under his skin and bile rising up his throat, but it doesn’t make sense. He shouldn’t feel this bad, not for something so trivial – and Minghao, he looks so at _ease_.

‘What d’you wanna eat?’ 

Mingyu startles a bit but catches himself quick. Nearly trips over the stairs of a house he’s grown up in – Minghao side-eyes him funnily. 

‘Whatever. I mean, fucking cookies. You bake neat cookies.’ 

‘Of course I do.’ 

Mingyu follows Minghao to his kitchen like a guest under his own roof. His friend – are they _friends?_ – has been over often enough, lately. Slept over a few times, but his parents have yet to catch wind of this. Mingyu kind of feels like crap about it. He’s not hiding – domestics have probably told them already – but he’s constantly waiting for his father to come home, his mother to yell about misbehaving. 

‘Ground control to major Tom. Hello?’ 

Minghao flicks his forehead twice before Mingyu snaps out of his thoughts. He groans, swats his hands away.

He receives a quizzical look, one eyebrow arched up. ‘You in there?’ 

‘Shut up and bake, slave.’ 

Mingyu laughs as the boy punches his shoulder hard enough to bruise.

 

 

 

**eight,**

 

‘Are you crying?’ 

‘Shut up.’

‘You’re crying.’

‘Fuck off! I’m not fucking crying.’ 

But he very much is. He _is_ – those big round droplets of water running down his face, sobs tearing out of his chest. Minghao’s nose is so red it’s kind of funny, but Mingyu keeps laughter for himself. 

‘You’re a pussy drunk? Damn,’ he tries comfort, the hilarious kind of comfort, but it doesn’t make Minghao smile. 

If anything, Minghao cries a little more. 

They’re outside, deserted sidewalks, and it’s cold enough to freeze fingers. They’ve had, what, two bottles of beer each? Mingyu barely feels drunk – yet here his friend is. Minghao gets up, wipes his cheeks and eyes angrily. 

‘I’m not a damn pussy drunk,’ he yells, and a car passes so quick Mingyu’s heart jumps to his throat. ‘I just fucking hate alcohol. I hate it.’ 

‘Shouldn’t have drunk then, dumbass.’ 

‘Fuck you. I can handle it.’ 

It’s the damn whiskey, Mingyu thinks. Maybe they should’ve stuck to the Wii and Hite beers back at home, but Minghao wanted out, explore the city and sneak into bars. Now look at you. 

‘I’d cry too if I dressed like that,’ Mingyu finally laughs, offers him the last of the whiskey bottle anyway.

Red clings to the corner of Minghao’s eyes, and they water again, though this time Mingyu isn’t entirely sure it’s because of the alcohol flowing through his veins. What’s on your heart, what’s on your mind? He doesn't ask.

Minghao sniffs, accepts the bottle anyway. ‘I’m no pussy.’ 

Mingyu doesn’t see him crying for a while, after that.

 

 

 

**nine,**

The transition’s weird. It kind of freaks Mingyu out, to be honest, but here he is – talking in Minghao’s name in front of the whole class. 

‘Huh, yeah. I’ll take notes for him…’ he mutters, and the teacher doesn’t seem convinced. ‘He’s sick, so. Yeah.’

Later, some kids approach him in the cafeteria. They’re a few grades higher, but it doesn’t show. They’re hesitant, and it's nibbling at Mingyu’s nerves. 

‘What do you want?’ 

‘You’re friends with Xu Minghao?’ 

Am I? Minghao pretends and lies about so many things, and Mingyu guesses it’s only fair he does it one time himself. 

‘Yeah. What do you want?’ he presses, sighing. 

‘We owe him money. So, there…’ 

The boy hands him some cash. That’s weird, Mingyu thinks, accepting. Used to be the school’s outcast, now what? Minghao’s? His friend, the one to reach out to when he isn’t around? People talk to him and bow a little when he passes corridors. Mingyu never knew nor cared, but Minghao’s apparently popular, even, shit – respected.

Mingyu gets to his class in silence and doesn’t give greetings back. Minghao hates alcohol and cries when drunk, is overly fashionable and people owe him money and, what?

He doesn’t know him at all.

It kind of hurts.

 

 

**ten,**

 

‘Where were you?’ 

Minghao stuffs his mouth with gummy bears. The road is shit and the bus keep bumping over rocks, but the view from the windows is nice enough. They’re sitting in the far back and kids sing happily.

They don’t. 

‘Here and there.’ 

Mingyu clicks his tongue. Minghao’s hair is lighter, like he’s dyed it just a shade different than his natural color and didn’t tell him. And he isn’t telling him now either. It’s annoying. It’s really fucking annoying.

‘Fuck you.’ 

‘Gladly,’ he flips him the bird, and with that, they stop talking. 

Mingyu focuses on the green countryside, and Minghao keeps eating those shit gummies of his. 

School trip. How fucking boring, when you’re friendless.

 

 

**???,**

He finds him curled on himself against the wall in the common restrooms. The sight doesn’t move Minghao, but there’s still the slightest of pinch in his chest.

‘Get up,’ he says, sounding harsher than he wants as he walks towards him.

The boy shakes, barely noticeable, and it makes Minghao frown.

‘Get the fuck up.’ Louder, louder.

He’s standing right in front of him, towering over the curled body of a boy who usually stood so tall and proud. It’s pathetic. It’s so fucking pathetic, how Mingyu can face everything and some more head held high but crumble so quick when it comes to the stupid, simple concept of family. But school isn’t a place to nurse deep-rooted emotional wounds in, and Minghao would be damned if he let Mingyu bare his soul so easily.

He tilts his head up just enough to send him looks full of rage. ‘Fuck off.’

Minghao’s teeth show when he says next through clenched jaw, ‘No. You are going to fuck all the way off with the self-pitying show. Get up, Mingyu.’

He doesn’t move. Minghao’s fists are tightening as seconds go by, nails digging inside his flesh. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get it, how low one can sink to the point of showing every bit of weakness one has to the whole entire world. 

Your pain’s your own. Your pain’s your burden. No one cares. No one.

Surprisingly so, Mingyu gets up, fiercer than Minghao would’ve expected. Tears have dried upon his cheeks and his eyes all puffy, red clinging to the corners. Nothing happens for a long time and silence stretches, and it’s just the two of them and their infinite grudge held against the world. 

‘Done?’ 

For Minghao, it’s the venom flowing through his veins and burning his skin, his hatred cared for secretly over the years. He doesn’t let it show, rather burns inside, but Mingyu’s fire is much brighter than his own and ignites in entirely different ways. 

His fist is a blur in the far corner of his vision and when it lands against the other boy’s jaw, pain doesn’t follow. Minghao’s big eyes go bigger. 

Mingyu keeps his knuckles there, fist against his cheek. Trembling, fingers and body.

‘Don’t you get tired of it? I’m tired of it. Of you pretending we're friends. I wanna go where I don’t have to see their dumb faces, to sleep in velvet. I have two bottles of expensive wine stashed in my bag and I want nothing more than smash them against the walls and paint this whole school red. Don’t you get tired, Hao? Don’t you?’ 

Minghao does - he whispers, afraid, so damn afraid. 'I'm not pretending.' 

Mingyu laughs. He just laughs, and keeps laughing, laughing, laughing.

'You don't mean that.' 

 

 

**ten,**

 

The first time Mingyu kisses him, they’re walking home after a math test.

There’s an echo of strawberry, the lingering taste of sweets on his lips. Minghao lets it happen the second time, and the third, and each time, when Mingyu pretends it never happened, Minghao laughs to himself.

_They're not friends, and they don't kiss._

 

 

**eleven,**

They don’t have friends, they don’t. There’s this kid though – crashes in their stupid town one fine day, and warms up to them his very first afternoon of school. 

His name is Chwe Hansol, but he rather have people call him Vernon. Makes the shift easier, he explains.

‘What shift?’ 

Mingyu talks with his mouth full, as usual, and Minghao glares at him for it, but Vernon doesn’t seem to care. He laughs, then smiles bright enough to make them feel like summer in the middle of February. 

‘Grew up abroad. I mean, no, not abroad because I’ve always lived away. But like... whatever, you get it. No one really calls me Hansol except my grandma, and she’s dead.’

‘Ah..’ 

Vernon chuckles again, a hand in the back of his hair. 

Weirdo, Mingyu thinks. Way to fucking kill the mood when they’re eating sushi - who even does that? But Minghao bursts out laughing, so Vernon follows once again. 

‘Ok, Vernon from not exactly abroad. Let’s do that.’ 

 

 

**midnight,**

Minghao never talks about home. Parents, relationships. For a while, Mingyu thinks he doesn’t have either, a stray living on his own for whatever weird reason it might be.

Months later, he finds out he’s pretending so because it hurts less. 

They’re playing Mario Kart. Minghao’s kicking their ass, though he isn’t even looking at the screen.

‘Staying over?’ 

Vernon’s thumbs fly in the air, _yessir_. Minghao’s face is paler than usual and Mingyu nudges him with his foot, but it doesn’t make him react in the slightest.

His kart falls in the void, again and again.

‘Think I have to go home,’ he whispers to no-one, eyes clouded and evasive. Wrong path, 10th place. ‘Mom called.’ 

Vernon curses because someone shot a damn blue carapace and calls cheating. Mingyu doesn’t mean it, but words blurt out of his mouth anyway and _ah, shit_. 

‘You have a mom?’ 

That’s the breaking point, he thinks. How Minghao’s eyes suddenly flicker up to meet his and they burn so red, that anger Mingyu haven’t seen in months – fists shaking, venom on his tongue. The race doesn’t really matter anymore.

‘Fuck you.’ 

On his way out, Minghao kicks the trash bin and it goes flying through the room. Vernon remains silent and kind of frightened on Mingyu’s bed, and Mingyu realizes he’s royally fucked up. 

His bedroom feels so, so colder.

 

 

**thirteen,**

 

Cherry blossoms, spring, new beginnings. Whatever. His ice-cream’s melting, but that’s entirely his fault. Vernon’s gone buying more, so Mingyu decides he’ll let the thing completely drip on the floor. 

‘You think death’s the end of it all?’ 

‘What?’ 

‘Nothing, asshole.’ 

Minghao rolls his eyes. Kicks a few rocks. They’re sitting on a bench, and it’s shiny outside, warm enough to wear short-sleeved shirts. There are bruises all over his forearms, and Mingyu can't stop eying them. 

‘Hao?’ 

‘I know. There’s nothing. We go back to the big nothingness before life, all black shit. Funny. We’re dust then we’re flesh for awhile before we turn to dust again.’ 

He hasn’t dared kissing him in days. He guesses Minghao doesn’t want to be kissed anymore, since the mom thing, and perhaps he’s to apologize, one day or another. Minghao’s pretending it’s alright, though. 

Not friends, but he kind of misses him. Somehow...

‘Come over, tonight. Have some new games we can test out,’ he offers sheepishly, testing the waters. 

Minghao doesn’t look at him. ‘Okay.’ 

‘Yeah?’ 

‘Yup.’ 

‘Nice.’

That night, Minghao doesn’t come over, and he doesn’t answer his phone either, nor the next day, or the following one. Doesn’t show up to school either. 

Mingyu wonders if he’s become dust again, and regrets not kissing him one last time.


	3. over_chapter3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song is joywave - tongues, rac remix and i have nothing more to add than. Hope u all enjoy this weird series
> 
> also this is like heavily unedited and i dont have a beta reader so im giving you this raw and wishing to every dead or alive divine entity that typos and mistakes wont kill this chapter ,,,, , , ,, , , ,, , ,or i die

_The palms are down, I’m welcomed into town_  
_Sometimes I feel like they don’t understand me_  
_I hear their mouths making foreign sounds_  
_Sometimes I think they’re all just speaking tongues_

 

 

 

**(1)one**

He doesn’t show up for a while. Vernon gets worried. 

Mingyu doesn’t. 

‘You think Hao’s gonna be alright?’ 

He looks up. Vernon’s kicking a worn-out, dying ball. It’s raining tiny droplets of water, humid and grey and shit as it always is. Mingyu wolfs down the last bits of his sandwich before getting up. 

Dusting his ass off, he looks up at the skies. Will he? 

He doesn’t believe in any God, and they all collectively ignore him. Whatever. Minghao’s lips are nice and soft, pliant and accepting. But the boy himself… he’s iron. Cold. Distant. Out of reach. Mingyu turns to Vernon and shrugs one shoulder.

‘Guess so.’ 

 

**(1)onehalf**

Two weeks into the Chinese exchange student being MIA, Mingyu keeps receiving money, while people keep asking where the fuck did Minghao vanish to. 

_Well, assholes. I don’t know either. Fuck off, fuck all the way off!_

Vernon plops his ass down on the semi-wet grass, not really caring about humidity. He’s sucking on a red lollipop, a book they’re supposed to read for tomorrow in hand. The sun’s hiding behind huge clouds, everything dark and quiet around though it’s roughly 4 pm still.

‘What kind of piece of shit cuntmouth of a gigantic asshole would do that?’ 

Mingyu vehemently throws his backpack on the ground, then kicks a few times for good measure.

Vernon doesn’t look up, shrugs. ‘Dunno. Well, you kinda asked for it.’

‘The fuck?’

‘I mean, you said he looked like a gremlin.’ Vernon glances at him pointedly, ‘and… like. Y’know. Everything else.’

Mingyu’s brows are smashed together, features twisted and scrunched up in fury. What, switching sides? Asshole. He grumbles some more under his breath, then falls down on his ass next to Vernon. His jeans are fucked anyway, torn and muddied, so grass couldn’t add any more unneeded damage. 

‘I’m gonna stop accepting that damn money. I hate this. I hate him. Fuck!’

Vernon’s thoughtful by his side. The lollipop’s finished, skies are getting darker. They linger around, just because.

 

 

**(2)two,1/2**

Minghao shows up on Mr and Mrs. Chwe’s porch one fine Thursday night with nothing but a shirt and a jean on. Vernon’s mom looks a lot like her son, which fucking figures, but _damn_. 

‘Hum. Hi…’

She seems… Minghao bites his lip. She seems distressed, overwhelmed. Whispers to herself, ‘Oh, darling one . . .’

Minghao doesn’t dare another move, but his mouth runs free on its own.

‘Mrs Chwe,’ he stutters, teeth clattering. Cold as fuck, and his eyes telling yet another story. Scratches on his arms. Bruises, all sorts.

He looks pathetic, really.

‘Is Vernon here?’ 

 

 

**(3)three**

He’s nicked himself again, damn it. 

Mingyu curses out loud – fuck! – and gets the whole class’s attention, startling the teacher. 

She clicks her tongue, a thin vein coming alive on her temple—a sign of her wrath being on its way. Vernon looks at him funny from the other side of the room, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. What’s up, asshat? And he has the damn nerve to be munching on the pen Mingyu has given him. 

His finger is still bleeding. Ah, shit. He hides his hands under his thighs, wondering what kind of sanction he’d get if they found out he hid cutters in his bag and played with them in class. 

Snorting quietly, Mingyu waits for the teacher to give him one more lecture about being the worst pupil she’s ever had. Whatttttever. Surprisingly so – she keeps her cool easily enough.

‘This is your last warning.’ 

Mingyu barely manages to contain himself from scoffing. Last warning, from what? Still, he nods obediently. 

‘Yes ma’am.’ 

 

**(4)four**

‘Look, just forget about last time—’ 

Mingyu flashes a sharp grin. Forget about last time? Bet. 

‘Just take the fucking money,’ Jihoon spits at him and fuck, he really _does_ look like a gremlin. ‘I don’t have time for this shit.’

Then he’s throwing bills at his face. They fall silently on the ground, Mingyu not picking it up. 

He’s shorter and smaller in frame than Mingyu but he – and the whole damn school – knows for a fact that this hyung is one mean, vicious fucker. He should really shut his mouth, forget about last time, and take the money, but he’s over so many things, pissing off the one he really should _not_ piss off is no concern at the moment.

He says, looking at the guy dead in the eyes because he’s suicidal like that: ‘Ain’t gonna do that. Give him yourself, midget.’

That, he shouldn’t have said. Gremlin whatever, but mdiget, man fuck no. Maybe. Maybe not. Mingyu glares at Jihoon and Jihoon glares right back, clenching his fists, irritation so clearly visible in his eyes it’s making them look red, red, red. At last, he laughs, face twisting into a dangerous smile.

‘You’re gonna regret that.’

 

 

**(5)five**

‘That was fucking dumb.’

Mingyu clicks his tongue, and stuffs his dick back into his pants. Vernon takes his time pissing, always does, so once again Mingyu ends up waiting for him, leaning against the shitty sink of the shitty school toilets.

‘Damn fuckin’ gremlin.’ 

 

 

**(6)six,half**

Mingyu doesn’t dream. Or maybe he does, but he never remembers shit. And it’s kind of annoying. That morning, when he wakes up sweating and out of breath, his guts are in a tight knot. 

You know, when something’s wrong—and get this, you don’t know _what_ —but you feel like there’s a murder of crows flapping their wings above your head and the skies turn dark and grey? 

‘Fuck.’

He kicks the duvet away. Staggers through the wide, wide space of his room, invisible hands wrapped around his neck. Drums inside his skull, frenetic and terrible. God, he hates it. He thinks of empty airports and the color of Minghao’s shirt the last time he saw him.

‘Fuck,’ he says again.

His stomach heaves and churns and tightens badly. Mingyu throws up. Later, much later, Mother enters his room without knocking and gives him the usual speech about bad manners and rudeness. You should feel ashamed of yourself. The clock soon hitting 3pm and he’s still lying in bed. Mother’s voice pitching higher and higher.

He covers his ears and pretends he’s somewhere far, far away.

 

**(6)six,**

Surprisingly so, Vernon’s become good company. 

Always brining easy fun and good snacks, keeping questions to himself and skating quietly by his sides through town. Smart kid, unless he forgets to take his meds in the morning—thin blood cells, lack of iron or something along those lines he told him some time ago.

His parents are alright, too. Nice and simple in a way that explains a lot about their son. Loving. Present. Mingyu hates being witness to their antics as much as he enjoys Vernon’s cozy bedroom, drugs and videogames. 

And his half-cousin. Or distant relative. Neighbor—holy shit, dealer? Whichever, but that cute boy who’s over quite often. From the school out of town, the _rich people_ school. Joshua, but he’d rather have people call him Jisoo. Vernon in reverse – from abroad too. They get along alright, and sometimes it’s easy to forget about Minghao and his smiles.

‘Guys. Let’s go swimming,’ Jisoo says a Friday night, grin wide on his face.

Vernon looks at him like he’s lost his mind. ‘Dude. It’s like, still cold.’

They’re at Vernon’s, his parents away. Just three of them, weed and games. Mingyu’s head is spinning, slightly beer-buzzed, and though he hasn’t smoked, the smell is enough to twist his stomach. Jisoo takes a lungful of the joint, lips still stretched cat-like around the thing. 

‘It’s like, spring. Hot enough. And who cares, anyway?’ He catches Mingyu’s gaze, smile turning sharper. Mingyu kind of blushes, looking away so abruptly it makes his cheeks burn redder. ‘Come _the fuck_ on.’ 

Vernon looks at Mingyu, and Mingyu shrugs, busying himself with the Playstation to avoid anymore of Joshua, no shit, Jisoo or whatever.

They end up swimming in freezing waters. Half drunk, half high, but sorta happy. Vernon almost drowns, Jisoo laughs so hard he almost does too, and Mingyu tries not to stare too much at the latter’s naked figure. 

 

 

**(6)six,full**

Minghao looks up at the sky and sees roses and reds and lilacs bleeding all over the horizon. It doesn’t make sense, rather leaves him with a terrible feeling of dread in his chest.

He lights up a cigarette to forget about the taste of Mingyu’s lips.

Ribs hurt like a bitch, the smoke filling his mouth making every tiny cut sting. He can’t go back home, not really, doesn’t want to either so he just stays there, – 

and he waits, waits and waits some more. 

 

 

**(7)seven**

‘Shit.’ 

Jisoo curses out loud, almost spilling his coffee. Mingyu looks up. 

There’s someone coming up their way, focused on their phone. He can’t quite make out their face from there, but he sees hair, long hair, while Jisoo moves swiftly besides him, cursing under his breath. 

‘Kiss me,’ he says.

Mingyu startles. ‘What the fuck?’ 

‘Kiss me,’ he says again.

‘No,’ Mingyu bites back, cheeks on fire, absolutely mortified.

_What the fuck, what the fuck._

Jisoo’s eyes shoot bullets and he clicks his tongue, so clearly annoyed and damned attractive, and proceeds to do the one thing that Mingyu absolutely did _not_ think about ever since he’s met him: kiss him. 

Seizes him by his collar, and crashes their lips together. Pushing Mingyu right against the lockers of the empty gym. Someone passes – a guy their age, pretty hair and prettier face – but Jisoo doesn’t let go. Mingyu thinks he’s gonna pass out. 

At last, when Jisoo takes a step back, he doesn’t even look at Mingyu, eyes trailing before the man who just passed by. Spits. Then only does he glance at Mingyu, snorting.

‘Sorry, mate. ‘s my ex. Kinda panicked.’ 

Jisoo doesn’t look sorry at all. Rather amused, and it’s fucking cruel because Mingyu feels like pure crap, lips stinging and chest cold, but shows none of it. Swallows all down, and fishes for the only words he can think of.

‘You gay?’ 

The boy laughs. ‘I take whatever comes. You?’

Mingyu doesn’t reply. I sometimes kiss Minghao and I like it a lot. Well, used to. Does it make me gay? 

When no answer comes, Jisoo shrugs and takes a sip of his hot beverage. ‘Doesn’t matter, really.’

 

**(8)eightmoons**

‘You should really go home.’

Minghao’s eyes don’t leave the ceiling. He thinks of distant worlds, imaginary realms, a place where his wishes would come true and the word home didn’t rise bile up his throat.

‘Hao. Listen to me.’ 

Vernon’s voice is getting louder in his ears, but it still can’t quite reach him. It sounds filtered, distorted. He blinks, once, twice, counts until three, and surely, Vernon’s face appears above him.

‘Hey, asshole. I’m talking to you.’

Minghao’s chest rises and falls slowly. ‘Are you kicking me out, Ver?’

Vernon’s face falls so quick it makes him laugh. He’s not kicking him out, he never would, but it’s going to be a week, he’s running out of excuses and Mrs. Chwe is just two conversations away from calling home and asking if everything’s alright back there.

‘I just…’ Vernon stops mid-sentence, looking for the right words, dancing around the matter. Minghao doesn’t care about semantics either way, but Vernon’s a decent human being and it takes him some time before he speaks next. ‘You need to check on your mom, Hao. You know how she can be.’

_Your mom’s probably drowning in her own vomit and if you don’t want to pay for her fucking funeral you better go_

He laughs at it, again, because Vernon’s words only translate to that single sentence in his mind. It shouldn’t, because his friend is being sincere, and Minghao knows how much the boy cares, but a part of him can’t help thinking see, _motherfucker - everyone grows tired of it._

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Hao, come on,’ Vernon presses, flopping beside him on the bed. Then his voice goes all quiet, brows smashed together as he thinks. ‘Does…’ A stop. ‘Shit. Does Mingyu know?’

Minghao jerks upright suddenly. There, it does it. He’ll split, whatever, he’ll go and check on his mom. See if the witch is still breathing, clinging miserably to life. Vernon scrambles hurriedly on his feet and catches his wrist. When he faces him, he meets alarmed puppy eyes, a pang of guilt as Vernon rolls his lip between his teeth. 

‘Wait,’ he tries again. 

Minghao wants to peel his damn skin off. Let go of me.

‘Listen to me, Hao. Look. You can stay as long as you wanna, ‘s cool. But you gotta…’ He stops, searching for the right words. ‘Talk to Mingyu? It’s makin’ me feel like shit to have to like, lie ‘bout you being here. And he’s getting…’ 

I don’t want to know. I don’t.

‘Stop,’ he whispers, his heart clenching. Minghao feels like throwing up, and the words taste like bile on his tongue. ‘I get it. Thanks for letting me crash here.’

Vernon shuts up and lets him go silently.

 

 

 

they're all just speaking tongues  
they're all just speaking tongues  
they're all just speaking tongues  
they're all just speaking tongues  
they're all just speaking tongues  
they're all just speaking tongues

 

 

 

 

**(9)nine/,zero**

There’s blood on his chin and scraps on his knees when he sees Minghao for the first time in days. 

Mingyu freezes, forgets he’s in the middle of getting his ass kicked, and the boot he gets to his mouth sends him tumbling on the floor. Next: three boys hovering instantly over him, boots connecting to his ribs, spit to his hair.

‘You posh asshole. Rich, pretentious scum. Who d’you think you’re calling a fuckin’ gremlin huh, shitbag?’

The sun’s sliding down the horizon smoothly, casting red lights everywhere. The park’s deserted, except for Mingyu and his friends having a little private party. Baby shower, gender: gremlin. He breaks into a wild fit of laugh. God, that hurts. 

Then there’s Minghao. 

Fuck, what?

Mingyu sees him one second and the next he’s gone – just like that, one of the boys screeches and falls on his ass. Then the second. And before Mingyu can shuffle back to his feet, Minghao’s fighting three boys and throwing punches like it’s nothing. Kicks too - actual, smooth as fuck kicks. Groin, legs. Martial arts black belt? Mingyu watches, dumbfounded, and realizes Minghao’s being his knight in shining armor once again. 

When the assholes flee, it’s just the two of them and the red sun. Mingyu has a hard time breathing correctly. 

‘You don’t get to do this.’ 

He’s shuddering, clenching his fists to kill the tremors in his hands. It has happened before, hasn’t it? A familiar fucking recurrence, the usual lines, the same hollow pit in his chest. Minghao’s dead eyes. His reddened knuckles, red tainting his lips. Sun going down, everything turning to shit.

_(Where were you? Here and there.)_

Minghao isn’t wearing his neon Converses. He isn’t even looking at him, gaze fixed somewhere over the clouds. Mingyu wants to yell at him, or throw up. His entire body aches and he cradles his potentially cracked ribs but keeps his face blank.

Take me where you left. I can’t deal with Ver’s family anymore. I drank entire bottles of my dad’s best wine last night and threw up so damn much I thought I’d die.

Something breaks within, like that. Mingyu’s getting sick of the silence, of the cold shoulder treatment, of being left on the edge of a high, rocky cliff. One step away from tumbling down. He searches hastily in his pockets, and throws every last bill and piece of copper he’s been given to Minghao’s face. 

‘Fuck you. Think I need your help every time I get beat? Think I can’t deal with assholes once in a while? Fuck you, Minghao. You’re a real piece of shit and I don’t care whether you have a mom or no. We’re not friends. I get it. I fucking get it!’ 

Minghao inhales deeply, closing his eyes. For a long time, he remains there, motionless, so close yet so far away, out of reach. Bleeding and beautiful under the sun’s scarlet glow.

‘Listen to it,’ he whispers. Pointing west. Where Jisoo and Vernon and him swam and laughed and laughed and laughed, (without him). ‘Listen to the ocean. I’m not pretending, but it’s hard. I don’t…’ 

He stops. Cracks a few knuckles in his left hand, then tries a pathetic, tiny smile, already turning away. ‘…want to bring you down.’

The sun sets and Minghao goes along.

 

 

_they're all just speaking tongues_

 

 

**(10)ten**

‘Hey, Ver.’ 

Vape-boy looks up, hidden behind a screen of thick smoke. ‘What’s up?’ 

Mingyu cranes his neck to his side. ‘You know where Hao lives, right.’

‘Huh.’ Hesitation. Vernon’s hand flies around him to get rid of the smoke as he says, ‘well, yeah. Kinda.’

‘Don’t _kinda_ me, asshole. You do.’ 

‘Okay, I do.’

Bullets fly and a few bodies drop on the screen to the sounds of agony screams. Mingyu pauses the game, meets Vernon's eyes.

‘Tell me.’


End file.
